


Nameless

by lyryk (s_k)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Discussion of Abortion, M/M, Mpreg, Past Abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack doesn’t know how Ianto will react to the news.</p><p>My solitary experiment in Mpreg, written for the lovely <a href="http://remuslives23.livejournal.com">remuslives23</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Watching the sea has always soothed him, and that’s where he goes when he realises what has happened to him.

He can’t even bring himself to put it into words yet, this thing that’s happened to him. It’s too new, too raw, to grasp all at once. He knows it’s real, but in the way that, for example, Gallifrey’s existence is real: something heard about, something imagined, but not a place he’s ever been to, ever felt with his senses before.

He goes to the promenade, sits on a bench that he thinks of as _theirs_. His and Ianto’s. Ianto’s and his. They’ve happened to choose that very bench to sit on every time they’ve managed to find time to go for a walk by the sea, which hasn’t been terribly often, but when it happens, it’s good. So very good. When he can reach out and touch Ianto, rest a hand quickly on his knee, just to feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric beneath his palm. Or when Ianto stretches out his arm along the back of the seat, making Jack feel that he’s got his back, without even touching him.

_Damn it, Harkness. Focus._

What will Ianto say, when Jack tells him? How will he react?

With anything but happiness, Jack realises. Ianto’s reaction is guaranteed to be anything but calm. Anything but comforting and supportive. That’s just the way it is, and nothing is going to change that.

He imagines it, how it will happen.

It will be a long, exhausting conversation for both of them. He’ll have to explain in detail about how things are in the future, in that place he comes from that no longer has any connection with the idea of home. How one has so many more choices about becoming a parent, how gender is not just obsolete but a forgotten construct, how the physiology of the human body has undergone artificial evolution for so many centuries, by Jack’s time, that people have forgotten that there was ever any other way to be.

Should he start with that? The whole academic explanation, and then break the news? Or just come out with it, and then explain how it happened?

Either way, he’ll have a very confused and upset young man on his hands.

Either way, he’ll have to say, _Don’t worry. We don’t have to go through with this._

That will be when, for the first time since the conversation has begun, he’ll see relief in Ianto’s eyes. _Of course,_ Ianto will say. _What a relief. I didn't even think of that._

 _I’ll take care of it,_ Jack will say. And Ianto will be grateful, maybe even a little sympathetic, if he can get over his horror that quickly.

He won’t put Ianto through the distasteful task of going along with him, of course. He’ll just have a quick word with Owen. Owen will know what to do. He’ll be just as shocked as Ianto at first, but then the scientist in him will take over, and he’ll run some tests, do an ultrasound... the first and only ultrasound that they’ll need to do, just to confirm the truth for Owen’s benefit. And then Owen’ll do what needs to be done. Jack wonders if it will be painful, if they can feel at that age, only a few weeks old. Not even human yet. Not even a person yet.

Later, the next time they see each other, Ianto will call him _sir_ and they’ll avoid physical proximity with each other for some days, avoid mentioning the huge, nameless thing that comes between them like an invisible wall. Things will be horribly awkward for a while, but they’ll get over it. The Rift will throw up something that requires all their focus, and they’ll throw themselves into work again, and the more often that happens, the further away they get from that nameless thing, the more they’ll forget. Of course, there’s always Retcon. Quick and easy and relatively painless. Yes, that would be best.

His eyes, unfocused for several minutes, hurt for a moment as he lets his gaze refocus on the sea. It’s too blue, reflecting the sunlight too brightly at this time of day. Or maybe it’s just that his senses are more sharp now, more alert to everything around him, magnifying every sensation. Every thought that he has had over the previous thirty minutes has been like a sliver of glass inside him.

It’s time to get it over with. He stands, shoves his hands into his coat pockets, and takes one last look at the sea before turning around resolutely and beginning to walk in the direction of their flat.

  


*

Ianto is in the kitchen, setting down a bowl of milk on the floor for the neighbourhood cat that has adopted them. He’s on one knee, his long, sure fingers gentle as they stroke the purring cat’s ears. It’s Sunday and he’s dressed casually, in blue jeans and that blue-grey polo-neck that makes his eyes seem even bluer than usual in comparison. On any other day Jack would have wanted to fist his hands in the soft fabric, pull Ianto to his feet, push him back against the wall and kiss him with single-minded devotion, all by way of a greeting.

Today, all he does is stand and watch, watch those gentle hands pet the ginger cat, and he wants to curl his fingers into Ianto’s hair and bury his face in the warmth of the sweater.

‘Hey,’ Ianto says, not looking up at first, still smiling down at the cat. ‘You hungry? There’s—’

He breaks off as he glances up at Jack, his welcoming smile faltering as he sees the expression on Jack’s face. ‘Jack? What happened?’

‘I—’ He takes a deep breath, and smells the milk. He has never minded the smell of milk but today it hits his guts like a sledge-hammer and he retreats hurriedly into the other room, and goes into the balcony to take lungfuls of the salty sea breeze.

‘Jack?’ Ianto is there in an instant, a hand on Jack’s back. ‘What’s wrong? Are you ill?’

Jack wishes he could say that he was, and for a wild moment he considers telling Ianto that he’s caught an alien virus and needs to go away for a good long time to recuperate. But that would mean lying to Ianto, leaving Ianto behind, and he’s not prepared to do those things again, ever.

And so he takes a deep, fortifying breath and turns around. Ianto’s hand is still there, warm and firm against the small of his back, and Jack takes one look into his eyes and knows that he’s about to tell Ianto everything, that this large, invisible nothing is about to be given a name and a shape, put into words, and there’ll be no going back. And maybe, he thinks, just maybe, it won’t play out as it did in his imagination.

‘Tell me,’ Ianto says gently, reading Jack’s expression perfectly. And Jack does.

  



	2. Chapter 2

‘Ow,’ Jack says softly as Owen inserts a needle into his vein. Blood swirls into the clear plastic syringe. Owen knows that the exaggerated response is for his benefit, to create some semblance of normalcy in a situation that’s decidedly not normal, and he is grateful.

‘Stop being such a baby.’ The word is out before he realises what he’s said, but it’s too late to take it back and he soldiers on, valiantly trying to keep up with Jack’s tone, trying not to let the word hang in the air too long. ‘It’s only a needle.’

‘Have you seen the size of that thing?’ Jack says too-lightly, rolling his eyes, still keeping up the pretence that all this is routine. ‘It’s almost as big as—’

‘I swear, Harkness, if you finish that sentence you’re on your own with this.’

Jack mimes zipping up his lips with his free hand, and Owen cannot help registering, yet again, how tense Jack’s muscles are beneath the skin of his arm, how he seems to be clinging to his charade of normalcy as though nothing else is holding him together. 

Owen withdraws the syringe and gently presses a swab of cotton, damp with antiseptic, against the tiny wound. ‘Here, hold this in place,’ he says, just to give Jack something to do. They both know Jack doesn’t need it, that the miniscule wound will close up in a second, but neither mentions it.

Jack does as asked, but when he looks up at Owen from his seat at the edge of Owen’s autopsy table, his eyes are warm with empathy. ‘That’s the second vial of blood you’ve taken,’ he reminds Owen gently. ‘The results aren’t going to change if you test it again. I’m human, I’m male, and I’m pregnant.’

‘There’s nothing,’ Owen says, helpless to stop his science from shattering to pieces around him. ‘Nothing in your bloodwork, your DNA, to suggest that this is even possible. _How_ —’ He cuts himself off and waves his hands around helplessly.

Jack is patient, and explains again. Owen gets the distinct feeling that he is talking in such detail to avoid _thinking_ about it.

*

‘You want me to _what_?’

‘Ianto and I agreed it would be for the best,’ Jack says quickly. ‘C’mon, Owen, can you imagine raising a kid around here?’ He laughs, a hollow sound that seems to bounce off Owen’s shiny instruments and the scrupulously sterile surfaces of the medical bay. Owen only half-registers the realisation of what a cold, comfortless space he works in. It’s a feeling he’s only ever had before in a hospital, as a patient, when his appendix was removed. 

‘But.’ Owen stops, then starts again. ‘But this is no ordinary kid, Jack. You’re a _man_ , for fuck’s sake.’

‘So _what_?’ Jack explodes, sliding off the table to glare down at Owen from his superior height. ‘That makes me a freak? That makes me wrong? Someone to be experimented upon? Should I lock myself up in a cage, so you can prod me better?’

‘No, you fool.’ Owen’s tone is harsh, but he grabs Jack by the shoulders. ‘It means you’re a fucking _miracle_ , and I didn’t even believe in that word until today. You’re something our primitive twenty-first century science has never seen before, and—’

‘How is this not proving my point?’ Jack crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. His breathing is still laboured, but he’s making a visible effort to remain calm.

‘Shut up and let me finish.’ Owen keeps his hands on Jack’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. ‘You’ve brought alive the possibility of something that’s never existed before, Jack. As a scientist, a medical person, I can’t deny that it’s fascinating to me. I want to protect it. I want to protect _you_. Look at you, mate. You’re barely holding it together. Where the hell is Jones?’

‘I—asked him not to come with.’

‘And he agreed?’ Owen says in disgust.

‘I didn’t give him much of a choice. Look, are we going to do this or not?’ Jack’s eyes have taken on the look now of a deer caught in the headlights of a vehicle that’s just about to ram into it. ‘Owen, please.’

‘I _will_ help you,’ Owen says firmly. ‘That’s what I’m here for. I’m your doctor, remember? Just. Look, just sit down.’

To his surprise, Jack allows himself to be led to a chair and pushed gently into it. ‘Sit tight,’ he says, trying to sound calmer than he feels. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ 

Jack nods silently, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. Owen gives his shoulder one more reassuring squeeze and goes to make a phone call.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Tell me,’ Ianto says gently, reading Jack’s expression perfectly. So Jack does.

He tells him something that will change their lives forever, spells it out slowly and haltingly as they stand in the balcony, the sea breeze tugging at their hair and their clothes.

After that first, heartbreaking glance, he doesn’t look at Ianto; his eyes seem focused on a spot far beyond the horizon, his eyes bluer than the sea.

At first, it isn’t even Jack’s words that register in Ianto’s mind. What registers is the amount of distress that Jack is in. And that’s what Ianto’s body responds to, even as his mind struggles to take in everything that Jack’s saying. It seems as though he’s been neatly split into two: the rational part that’s hearing Jack’s words, and the instinctual part that’s hearing the tone of Jack’s voice. 

‘—don’t need to go through with this,’ Jack finishes, and it’s as if Ianto can hear every single tiny fragment of that voice, hear what it’s taking Jack to hold all those little pieces together. Ianto feels something splinter inside him, preparing to break, and he knows that it is up to him to hold them both together before they fall away in separate directions. 

‘Wait,’ he says, stepping closer and pulling Jack into his arms, functioning on autopilot, his instincts recognising that they both need this, realising that he has somehow, inadvertently, broken Jack and needs to put him together again— _Right NOW, damn it!_ —before terrible things happen.

 _Owen_. The name comes to mind like a ray of sunshine. Owen’s a doctor, pregnant people need doctors. _Oh god how will we do this._ Owen will know, he’ll figure it out, he’s a good doctor, he’ll take care of Jack. He’ll know, he _must_ know, doctors do this kind of thing all the time.

‘We have to go to Owen,’ he says, pleased that he’s thought of something useful, and is shocked when Jack recoils as though Ianto has slapped him across the face.

‘I—I thought you might agree we need to let Owen… take care of this,’ Jack says carefully. But why is he looking so devastated at the thought?

Ianto cups the back of Jack’s neck with one hand, frames his face with the other. ‘That’s right, Owen will take care of this. It’s all going to be fine.’ He knows he’s reassuring himself as much as he is Jack, but god, they both need it. ‘So brave,’ he whispers, thinking aloud, his lips against Jack’s hair. ‘You’re so brave, so amazing.’

But Jack says, ‘No,’ and shakes his head. ‘No, I’m not brave, I’m just doing what needs to be done.’

‘I’m _with_ you, Jack. We’re doing this together.’ _Fuck, we’re really going to do this. We’re going to be parents. Wait, wait, wait. First things first. Go see Owen. Make sure Jack’s going to be okay. Make sure we can get him through this._ It takes him a moment to remember that Jack can come back from anything, but the very last thing he wants to think of at the moment is that this is probably going to hurt Jack very much, physically, and there’s nothing he can do to spare him that.


	4. Chapter 4

He wraps his hand around his Webley, its cold, dead weight oddly comforting.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He never should have come to Owen. It would have been so easy to just reset his body, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him at all. Even if Owen knows now, it’s still not too late to put himself out of this unimaginable misery without waiting for some clinical procedure.

He quickly gathers up his coat and shirt, which he’d taken off so Owen could do his tests, and goes up to his office, shivering slightly as the chill of the air-conditioning penetrates his thin t-shirt. He throws the clothes down the hatch and follows them into his bunker. The bathroom would be the best place to do it, so the cleanup will be easier afterward. 

He toes off his boots and steps into the small bathtub. It’s barely enough to hold one person, but he and Ianto have managed to squeeze into it together on more than one occasion. What he is about to do is going to tarnish the memories he has of this space, but of this he is certain: that this is necessary, that this is what he should have done in the first place, without involving anyone else.

He draws his knees up to his chest and leans his head back against the cool smoothness of the wall. _I should never have told him. Never._

*

' _The subscriber you are trying to reach is not responding. To leave a voice message, please—_ '

Owen cuts off the phone angrily for the fourth time in minutes, but his anger dissipates as the door rumbles open and Tosh walks in.

‘Where the hell’ve you been?’ he snaps. ‘I’ve been trying like mad to reach you.’

She stops short, raises her eyebrows. ‘Hello, Owen. I’m happy to see you too. And not at all surprised, considering I was given the day off.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m a bastard.’ He pushes his hand nervously back through his hair, and watches as her annoyance melts a little. 

‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ she says quietly.

Owen glances up at Jack’s office, which has been very quiet since the Captain entered it a few minutes back. ‘I think you’d better sit down,’ he says, keeping his voice down even though there is no way Jack can hear him from up there.

*

Tosh bites down on her knuckles, but the small, sharp pain does nothing to distract her senses. ‘Call Ianto,’ she says, barely recognising the hoarse voice as her own. ‘We have to call him, Owen.’

‘I don’t know. Jack was very clear about what he wants,’ Owen says. ‘He says they’ve already discussed it. I don’t know what good it’ll do, speaking to that bastard who couldn’t even be bothered to come with Jack.’ Owen’s hands are curled into small, tight fists, and it’s making her uncomfortable just looking at them. Surely it must hurt to keep them clenched like that. 

There is a pause while Tosh forces herself to think, struggles to find the words to respond, even as a small voice in her head asks why Ianto is not there. ‘Ianto’s not like that.’ The words are emphatic, surprising even her with the strength of a conviction she had not known she had. ‘He’s _not_ , Owen.’

Owen says nothing. She wants to comfort him. She wants to find Jack and throw her arms around him and keep him safe. She wants Gwen back right now. She wants to see Ianto’s calm blue eyes and have him tell her, tell _Jack_ , that it’s all going to be all right. All the things she wants are horribly out of reach, shimmering at the corners of her eyes like tantalising ghosts. She does not dare blink, for fear that they will escape down her cheeks.

*

_It is the year 5048. He is twenty-eight years old. The last time he had been conscious, he had been five months pregnant. Now, as his eyes open in a white room, he knows from the agony that rips its way across his body that the child that he had been carrying is gone._

_He turns his head into his pillow as involuntary tears spill warmly down his face._


	5. Chapter 5

They’d expected one Weevil—Jack wouldn’t have sent him without backup otherwise—but there are three in the small office complex, deserted on a Sunday except for a young, curly-haired security guard who is absolutely no help at all. 

Ianto can swear the creatures are _evolving_ , or at least acquiring a kind of collective consciousness that they didn’t seem to have before. They actually seem to be ganging up on him, trying to distract him one at a time as the other two try to sneak up on him from behind.

He’s plenty distracted already, thank you very much.

His heart thuds, pumping painfully fast as adrenaline courses through his blood. He’s already bleeding from one arm, where teeth have sunk easily through the fabric of his sweater and torn his skin.

He’s not really even seeing the Weevils.

What he’s seeing is Jack’s face, Jack’s terrifying vulnerability, even though he’d been all Captain Jack Harkness as he’d left Ianto’s flat after ordering him to see to the Weevil attack. 

Big-and-Nasty lunges at him and he waits until the last moment to sidestep, knowing that Small-and-Fast is pouncing from behind at the same time. The two Weevils crash into each other and fall to the floor, momentarily dazed. Ianto takes advantage of the moment and sprays the third in the face, stopping it in mid-pounce. Less than five minutes later the three are lined up neatly on the floor, knocked out and bagged.

The young security guard peeks out from behind a desk, all wide eyes and frantic breath. 

‘It’s safe to come out now,’ Ianto says, distractedly aware of his sleeve rapidly getting soaked with blood. He’ll need the boy’s help to get the Weevils down to the car, and he hopes the stash of Retcon in the Audi’s glove compartment hasn’t run out.

*

_It’s been hundreds of years in his timeline since it happened, but it’s one memory that never fades. It had receded a little, but now it’s returned with frightening clarity._

_He is young, but he’s been in the Forces for almost a decade. There wasn’t much else to do after Grey but to throw himself into a career that threatened his life on an everyday basis, and that got him into the sky, where everything seemed small but the universe._

_He loves flying. He lives for it. In his tenth year of service, he opts for a research and teaching position at the Defence Academy. It isn’t just about academics. He has access to the latest tech, the most experimental aircraft. For the first time since Grey, there are a few nights of uninterrupted sleep, and the nightmares begin to recede._

_The only thing that’s lousy is the pay, so he agrees to be a surrogate for a couple at the Academy’s research facility. Neither of them wants to be pregnant because they work constantly, and the arrangement suits him fine since he has a relatively stress-free year to spend at the Academy. Being pregnant shouldn’t interfere with his teaching schedule and his own research; the only thing it will stop is his flying, but he doesn’t mind that so much. Not with the kind of money that he’s being offered._

_The embryo is implanted in him, and all is well. He hardly ever sees the parents. He lives on his own in a cottage on campus, and he has the baby for company. He speaks to her, reads to her, plays music to her. What had started out as an easy way to earn money quickly becomes one of the most memorable experiences of his life. For the first time in years, he feels that he might be capable of love again._

_And then, during the fifth month, the baby’s parents decide to separate. It’s a horribly messy estrangement, with each of them accusing the other of stealing research. The only thing they can agree on is that neither wants the child anymore._

_He begs them not to do it. He’s never begged for anything, ever, but he pleads for her life, offering their money back, anything, anything. When they refuse to consider it, he gets desperate and tries to escape, but they have him arrested. His rational mind knows they are perfectly within their rights; he has signed a contract declaring he has no rights over the child. But every instinct that he has makes him fight and scream and beg as he is caught and subdued. And then he is waking up in the clinic and she is gone, just like that._

*

Ianto dials Jack's number the moment he pulls out of the parking lot, unable to keep his uneasiness at bay any longer.

Jack answers after four rings. ‘Ianto.’ It’s not a question, and it’s not a greeting.

‘Jack? Hey.’ Inexplicable relief clutches at him at the sound of Jack’s voice.

‘Hey,’ Jack says back, his voice sounding faraway. Subdued, even.

‘Jack, are you all right? What did Owen say?’

‘You first. All fine? With the Weevil?’

‘All fine. I’m on my way back now.’

‘Okay. I’ll see you at the Hub.’ 

‘Jack, _wait_. Did you talk to Owen?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘What did he say? Can he handle this?’

Jack laughs, the sound utterly mirthless even over the telephone line. ‘You can’t wait, can you?’

‘Of course I can’t wait,’ Ianto says, bewildered. ‘I need to know that Owen can take care of—’

‘It’ll be taken care of.’ 

The line goes dead.


	6. Chapter 6

‘It’ll be taken care of.’ 

Jack cuts off the call and thumps his head back against the wall. For a wild moment, when the phone had rung and he’d seen Ianto’s name flash on the screen, he’d thought everything would magically be fine. 

He clutches the phone tightly, fighting the urge to call back. 

He doesn’t have to. The phone buzzes again, startlingly loud in the small, confined space of the bathroom.

He takes a deep breath before he answers. ‘What?’

‘You are _not_ going to hang up on me again,’ Ianto tells him firmly. ‘In fact, you’re going to stay on the phone with me until I say you can hang up.’

‘Excuse me?’ Jack’s voice rises in disbelief. ‘Did you just give me an order?’

‘I believe I did, sir. Besides, you didn’t seem averse to receiving orders two nights ago.’

‘Now you’re just cheating, bringing that up.’

‘I wasn’t aware this was a game, Jack.’

Jack sighs. ‘What do you want, Ianto?’

*

Ianto shifts the gear into fourth, clamping the phone between his ear and his shoulder. ‘What I want is to know why you’re still in the bathroom.’

‘You really do know everything, don’t you?’ Jack’s tone is a combination of annoyed and impressed.

Despite himself, Ianto smiles. _Yep. And your voice echoes when you answer the phone from there._ ‘Of course. That’s why you tolerate having me around.’ _Just keep talking, please._

‘That’s not why I want you around, Ianto,’ Jack says without hesitation. There is a pause. ‘But there’s something I really need to do, so I’ll see you when you get back, yeah?’

 _Damn._ The conversation is getting away from him, and he senses that Jack is on the verge of hanging up. He doesn’t know why, but his instincts are screaming at him, telling him that Jack must stay on the phone.

He knows he really has to start cheating now, but if it works, he’ll have no regrets.

‘Jack, wait. I—I’m hurt. One of the Weevils surprised me.’ 

‘What?’ Jack sounds panicked; he knows that Ianto would not mention an injury unless it was bad. ‘Why didn’t you say so before? How bad is it?’ 

‘Not too bad, but maybe you could meet me in the parking lot? I might need some help.’

‘I’ll be there. Are you sure you can drive? Shall I come get you?’ Ianto feels a pang of guilt at the anxiety in Jack’s voice, but at least he’s managed to distract Jack, even if he’s playing unfair.

‘No, I can drive. See you soon.’

*

It’s barely been three hours since they last saw each other, but Ianto realises what an eternity it’s felt like when he finally sees Jack again. He doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him as he gets out of the car and pulls Jack into his arms. 

Owen is there too but Ianto doesn’t care what the doctor thinks of his open display of affection, right now. All he knows is that he can finally breathe again without feeling as though there is something sharp and painful in his throat. Jack is frozen at first, caught by surprise, and for a moment Ianto thinks that he’s going to pull back. But then he relaxes in Ianto’s arms and allows himself to be held, his arms going around Ianto’s waist. They hold each other for a long, long moment, in which nothing matters to Ianto but the fact that Jack is safe in his arms.

‘Why do you have your gun in your hand?’ Ianto says into Jack’s hair, without letting go.

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jack says into Ianto’s shoulder, his voice muffled. He pulls back. ‘Let Owen look at your arm, and we’ll talk about this later?’

Ianto frames Jack’s face with his hands. ‘In a minute. I want the truth, Jack.’

Jack exhales wearily, stricken blue eyes holding Ianto’s gaze. ‘I thought it would be easier to reset my body than to have Owen do the procedure.’

Ianto frowns. Either he’s lost more blood than he’d thought and is getting light-headed, or most of what Jack has just said sounded insane.

‘Reset your—you mean _kill_ yourself?’

Jack squirms. ‘Yeah, I thought it would be easier to just—’

‘And what _procedure_?’ Realisation hits, and Ianto releases Jack and slumps back against the Audi. ‘You’re talking about… God.’

Jack lifts his chin in that defiant, impossibly endearing way. ‘Does it matter, whether Owen cuts me open or I fix this myself?’ 

Feeling as though something has just detonated inside his brain, Ianto turns to Owen, finally registering his presence. ‘You want to _cut him open_?’

Almost anyone else would have withered under Ianto’s cold fury, but Owen merely raises his hands in defence. ‘Hey, _he_ wanted me to do it. I never actually said I would.’

It’s Jack who rounds on Owen now. ‘You said you were going to help me!’

‘I was going to help you by stalling, since you clearly don’t know what you want!’

‘Shut up, both of you!’ Ianto’s gaze is fixed on Jack. ‘You were going to—you were going to have—’ He can't even bring himself to say the word. ‘Without even telling me?’

‘You’re the one who suggested it.’ Anger, shaky and already crumbling, flashes in Jack's eyes.

‘I— _what_? When the hell did I do that?’

‘This morning. At your flat. When I told you.’

‘I did no such thing, Jack! You never even gave me time to respond to—’

‘Didn’t you say we should go to Owen?’

‘Yes,’ Ianto says, dazed. ‘Yes, of course. So he could check you over. So he could tell us that you and the baby were fine. So he—so he could take _care_ of you both.’ His voice breaks a little, and he can only stare at Jack imploringly now, as words abandon him.

‘Not to… you know… not for a… termination?’ 

God, if only Jack weren't so transparent in his emotions. A rainbow of sensations is reflected on Jack's face, and Ianto feels each one as though it were his own. ‘No! God, no. Why would you think that?’

‘I—I don’t know. I was so sure.’ Uncertainty is written all over Jack’s face, and relief seems to be struggling to reach the surface as well. Jack takes a step closer to Ianto at the same moment that Ianto moves toward him, his heart clenching at the expression on Jack's face.

‘Glad that’s cleared up, then,’ Owen says, rolling his eyes. ‘Holler if you want help getting the Weevils inside.’ He shoves his hands into his pockets and stomps off.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s a strange place to have this sort of moment: in Torchwood’s not-very-well-lit parking area, with three Weevils upright and asleep in the back seat of his car like bored passengers.

What the moment itself is, Ianto isn’t entirely certain. Owen’s footfalls are still receding, and no other sound is audible. He and Jack are standing close together, both having stepped forward at the same time, but now they both seem to be unsure about what happens next: unsure about what to say, whether to touch.

‘You’ve ruined my favourite sweater,’ Jack says finally, looking at the bloodstained sleeve, touching Ianto’s uninjured arm gently, his fingers scrunching the fuzzy grey fabric. That’s all it takes for Ianto to sag against Jack, to clutch blindly at him and try to pull away at the same time as Jack’s arms tighten around him. ‘Sshh,’ Jack says, repeating the soothing sound until Ianto stops struggling. Jack rocks them both gently, holding Ianto up against the Audi. _It’s all right. Be my child. Fall apart. I’m here_.

*

‘You thought the worst of me,’ Ianto says later. There is no accusation in his tone, only fact. He is sitting on the floor of Jack’s bunker with his back against the wall. Jack reclines on the bed, his head propped up on his elbow.

‘No. Okay, yes, I did. I was… The last time this happened, I… it took me a long time to get over it.’

‘You’ve been pregnant before?’ He’s not sure at all if he wants to hear about it.

Jack opens his mouth as if to speak, but then just nods before letting his head drop against the pillow. His eyes stare up at the ceiling, blank, seeing something that is too far away, or too private, for him to share with Ianto.

 _You fool,_ Ianto tells himself. _You perfect arse._ Understanding is beginning, finally, to glimmer through the darkness that’s been clouding his mind all morning.

He shifts, resting his elbows on the bed, bringing himself within touching distance, should Jack require it. He doesn’t know yet if he has the right to ask about Jack’s past, to probe memories in which he doesn’t belong.

Jack closes his eyes. ‘I don’t know if I can talk about it.’ 

‘You don’t have to,’ Ianto says quickly. ‘But…’

Jack rolls over on to his side, facing Ianto, his eyes open. ‘But?’

‘I… I’m just puzzled about something. Is it all right to ask?’

Jack nods. ‘It’s okay. Ask me anything you want to.’ He looks tired, and uncertainty still lingers in those astonishingly blue eyes. Ianto has never wanted more badly to take Jack in his arms, but he is not sure if that is allowed yet, if that’s what Jack wants.

‘It sounded as if the last time was… I’m sorry… as if it was difficult?’

‘Yeah. I told myself I’d never do that again.’

‘But then…’

‘Yes?’

‘Why did you even tell me about it? This morning?’

‘Because I… because I hadn’t anticipated that I would want to go through with it.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ He knows he’s treading on very shaky ground, but he has to ask.

‘You did. The thought that if I… if we went ahead with it… if we had a child, and he or she had children… then there would be a part of you that I would always have. I hadn’t… I didn’t think I would want that with anyone again.’ Without meeting Ianto’s eyes again, he reaches out and grasps Ianto’s good arm, and Ianto allows himself to be tugged on to the bed. He is relieved that Jack doesn’t seem to want him to say anything in response, for what can possibly be said in response to such a declaration? He settles next to Jack instead, choosing touch over words, as they so often do, to communicate.

‘Careful, your stitches,’ Jack murmurs against his hair, arranging Ianto’s injured arm carefully against his side. He shifts his head back on the pillow so that they’re facing each other, their noses almost touching because the bed is so narrow and they are so close.

‘You sure you want to do this?’ Jack says very quietly. 

Ianto slips his hand beneath Jack’s t-shirt. ‘You’re cold.’ He sits up and pulls the blanket around Jack, and then lies back down. ‘I’m not sure of anything. When I leave the house in the morning, I’m never sure if I’ll come back. The first thought I usually have when I see a trailer for a new film is whether I’ll be around when it releases. Every day, I expect to die. But today…’ 

He wraps his arm around Jack over the blanket, his fingers running through the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck. ‘In the parking lot, when I saw you, when you said you wanted to… end it, I was _sure_ that wasn’t what I wanted. I haven’t felt that kind of certainty about anything for a long time, Jack.’

Jack extracts a hand from within the blanket and touches Ianto’s face, fingers drifting to trace his hairline, his earlobe. ‘Torchwood’s taken so much from you. I don’t want this to be taken from you. The choice about whether you want to be a parent. You shouldn’t have to be forced into it, just because you’re too kind to make a harsh decision about whether this child should be—’

‘Torchwood’s _given_ me so much, Jack. Torchwood Three saved me. After Canary Wharf. After what I did. If I weren’t with Torchwood, I could plan out a long, conventional life and still be hit by a truck on my way home. Because I’m with Torchwood, I do things I wouldn’t otherwise have done. I see my sister and her kids more often. I try out new stuff to read, to eat. I… experiment. Besides, I get to spend every day working with you. Most people who work jobs don’t get to spend that much time with their families.’

‘Am I an experiment?’ Jack asks, straight-faced.

‘Sometimes,’ Ianto says lightly, leaning closer to nuzzle his nose against Jack’s, and Jack smiles, fleetingly. 

‘Don’t stop,’ Ianto says.

‘Don’t stop what?’ Jack asks, curious.

‘Smiling. Don’t stop smiling. Not yet.’

 

~end


End file.
